The Trouble With Love
by SFGrl
Summary: What if you got everything you ever wanted...and it ruined your life?
1. The Last Will and Testament of

**AN: This one is totally AU, though I am using a few little tidbits from the show.  Most of it should be explained as the fic progresses…**

**.**

_The Trouble With Love_

_One: The Last Will and Testament of Charles Bing_

_._

The subway rumbled slowly through the underbelly of New York City, dim florescent bulbs flickering throughout the long steel compartments, the rhythmic rocking of the train lulling several passengers into a light sleep.

The train was packed, as it always was this time of day, and Chandler Tyler was leaning heavily against a cool steel wall, having recently given up his seat to a tiny, elderly Italian woman.  His head lolled back slightly, as he struggled to catch up on some much-needed sleep.  The train rolled to a stop and the doors opened with a whoosh.  Chandler opened his eyes and looked around—one stop to go.

It was a long, arduous commute sometimes, but the job in Hoboken paid fairly well, and the hours were reasonable.

The train pulled into his station, and Chandler pushed his way off of the train and up toward the street.  He pulled his jacket around him and secured his backpack onto his shoulder before heading toward his apartment, seven blocks away.

"Mom?" Chandler called, as he opened the door to the small apartment he shared with his mother, Nora.

"In here, sweetie," Nora called, and Chandler made his way into the tiny kitchen.

"Hey," Chandler smiled warmly, and kissed his mother on the cheek, as she continued to stir the soup that was bubbling ferociously on the stove.

"How was work?" Nora smiled wearily.

"The same," Chandler shrugged, and sank into a kitchen chair.

"Are you working at the bar tonight?"

"Yeah," Chandler sighed, as he flipped through the stack of mail that was piled on the kitchen table.

"Well the soup is ready, and I thought I'd make sandwiches too," Nora said, more to herself than to anyone.

"Yeah," Chandler said distantly, "I'm gonna eat in the living room if that's okay."

"Sure," Nora nodded, as Chandler stood and left the room.

He wandered into his small bedroom, and kicked off his shoes, before changing into his other work uniform—a black bar t-shirt and jeans—and heading into the living room.

Nora was setting up TV trays when Chandler walked back into the room.  The television was on, and _Entertainment Tonight_ was blaring.  Nora disappeared into the kitchen, and reappeared moments later with two steaming bowls of soup.  Chandler plopped onto the sofa, his head weary, and closed his eyes momentarily, as Nora left to bring the sandwiches into the living room.

Tonight on ET, more information on Ben and Jen's secret wedding plans, plus, the surprising death of TV and movie mogul Charles Bing!

A sudden crash in the kitchen; Chandler opened his eyes and stood up.

"Mom?  You okay?" he walked into the kitchen to find his mother on her hands and knees, shakily gathering pieces of broken glass.

"Oh, yes, I'm fine…I'm just so…clumsy," Nora laughed uneasily; as Chandler crouched down to help his mother.

"What happened?"

Nora looked up, and Chandler could see that she was pallid and shaky.

"N-nothing, the plate just slipped," Nora smiled and stood quickly, "Go eat your soup before it gets cold…I'll take care of it."

Chandler looked at his mother silently for a moment, concern lining his features.  Nora chose to ignore her son's presence.  After a long minute, Chandler sighed, and walked back into the living room.

Nora wiped a renegade tear from her eye, and continued cleaning up her mess.

.

One Week Later

.

Nora rushed down the street as fast as she could in her ten-dollar heels, and silently cursed the dense sheets of rain that was making the trek nearly impossible.  She made her way to a towering building, slipping slightly as she walked through the heavy glass doors.  She pulled her soaked hair from her eyes, and used the damp sleeve of her jacket to wipe the rain and mascara streaks from her face, as she rushed toward the tall brass elevator doors.

"Can I help you ma'am?"

Ma'am.  When the hell had it gone from 'Miss' to 'Ma'am', anyway?  She shook her head, and turned toward the security guard.

"M-my name is Nora Tyler…Bing, and I'm here to see Leonard Shay?"

"Fifteenth floor," the security guard replied, and Nora rushed off.

She found the suite, and walked through the heavy mahogany doors with as much confidence as she could muster.  As soon as she walked into the room, she felt what must have been twenty sets of eyes on her.  She scanned the room quickly, and shook her head.  They had all shown up—she knew they'd all show up—_bloodsuckers_.

"Ah, Mrs. Bing, so happy you could join us," Leonard smirked, as he took a seat at his oversized desk.

Nora said nothing.  She simply sat down as far away from the others as she could.

"Alright, I suppose we may as well get to it.  I know you are all dying to know," Leonard sighed, "Charles Bing's last will and testament."

The people filling the office took a simultaneous breath, and Nora rolled her eyes.

"I, Charles Bing, being of sound mind," Leonard read, "leave the following to those I left behind.  To my second wife and her children, I leave the penthouse in New York.  To my houseboy Rafael, I leave six million dollars…"

.

Two Days Later

.

Chandler wiped a damp rag across the bar, then ran his right forearm across his sweat soaked brow.  The bar was especially busy tonight, and Chandler was in no mood to deal with a crowd.

His mother had been acting very odd the past couple of days—she was moody and distant, and she had called in sick to work two days in a row.  When he asked her what was wrong, she would blow him off, and tell him it was just a headache.  

A fleeting thought that she was fatally ill whispered through his mind, but he quickly dismissed the notion.

Still…Nora was never sick…and she seemed to be hiding something.

He shook his head and turned back to his job, after determining that spending this much time thinking about his own mother was a little too Oedipal for his taste.

"Excuse me?"

Chandler looked up, to see a stunning, dark haired woman sitting across the bar from him, a warm smile on her face.

"Can I help you?"

"Can I get a scotch on the rocks with a twist?"

"Sure," Chandler smiled, and moved to pour the drink.

"This is a great bar…I've never been here before."

"Yeah, it's not bad," Chandler grinned, as he finished the woman's drink.  He set it in front of her, and she smiled coyly.

"I particularly like the service," the woman replied huskily, and Chandler felt his cheeks flush.

"Th-thanks," Chandler stammered, and took a small step back, "Um, that's $6.50."

The woman laid a twenty on the bar, followed by a small slip of paper.

"Keep the change," she cooed, before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

Chandler picked up the money and paper, and looked down at them.  Shrugging, he shoved the paper into his pants pocket, and rung up the drink.

Two hours later, the bar began to thin out, and Chandler started to clean up the bar area, in hopes that he could slip out a little earlier than usual.

"Hey stranger," came a familiar voice from the end of the bar.  Chandler looked up, and smiled brightly.

"Pheebs!  Where've you been?" Chandler crossed the bar and moved to the other side to hug his longtime friend, "I've missed you."

"Me too," Phoebe giggled, "My new job has been _crazy_!" she added.

"Tell me about it," Chandler nodded toward the bar behind him.

Phoebe smiled, and watched as Chandler moved back behind the bar.  

"So, are you going to Joey's play on Friday?" Phoebe asked.

"I hope so…what time is does it start?"

"Seven…I think.  It should be absolutely _ghastly_.  There's an exclamation point at the end of the title!"

"So it's…_Freud!_?" Chandler laughed.

Phoebe nodded.

"Oh…kill me now," Chandler shook his head.  

"Anyway, he got us a bunch of tickets…so if you know anyone else that may want to go…"

"Well, this really hot girl just gave me her number…I was just going to scare her off with my own natural 'charm', but I guess I could just scare her off with _Freud!_ instead."

"Yeah," Phoebe smiled half heartedly, "though if you really like this girl, maybe taking her to see Joey act is a bad idea."

"I don't even know her," Chandler shrugged, and fished the paper out his pocket, "she just gave me her number."

Phoebe snatched the paper from Chandler's hand, and studied it.  "Her name is _Medea_?" Phoebe raised an eyebrow warily, "what the hell kind of name is _Medea_?"

"I dunno," Chandler shrugged nonchalantly, "she was hot."

Phoebe shook her head and handed the paper back to Chandler, before nodding toward the other end of the bar. "That guy wants a drink."

Chandler turned to look at the man, then shot Phoebe an apologetic glance, before walking toward the customer.

~*~

"Does she _look_ sick?" Phoebe queried, as she watched Chandler lock the front doors of the bar an hour later.

"No…but she seems…preoccupied.  I'm telling you, Pheebs, something is going on," Chandler shook his head, as he slipped his keys into his pants pocket.

"Weird.  It's not like Nora to keep things from her favorite son," Phoebe grinned.

"_Only_ son," Chandler smiled, as Phoebe slipped her arm around his.  He looked at her, and sobered,  "It _is_ weird, for her not to tell me what's going on."

"I'm sure she'll tell you when she's ready, Chandler," Phoebe smiled supportively, and placed a short kiss on his cheek, "now walk me home, please."

"Yes, M'am," Chandler took Phoebe's hand in his, and led her down the darkened street.

They walked in silence for several blocks, both deep in thought.  As they approached Phoebe's building, they slowed to a stop, and Phoebe turned to face Chandler.

"You gonna be okay?" she asked softly.

"Yeah," Chandler smiled bravely, and laid a kiss on Phoebe's cheek, "thanks Pheebs."

Phoebe smiled, turned, and shuffled up the steps of her building.  Once safely inside, she turned to see Chandler, making his way down the block, toward his own building.

She laid her fingers over the spot on her cheek where Chandler had kissed her—her skin still tingling from his touch.  She let out a heavy sigh, and made her way into the building, determined not to dwell on old feelings.

~*~

Chandler studied his feet, as he wandered the blocks toward home.  His mind heavy with concern and exhaustion, he was blind to the world around him.

Apparently, so was she.

They slammed into each other, and both went careening toward the sidewalk with a thump.

"Oh!  I'm sorry, I—" They began simultaneously, then both laughed.

"Are you okay?" Chandler asked, as he stood.  He extended his hand toward her.

She looked up, and time…stopped.

Her beauty fragile, like a porcelain doll, mesmerized him, yet her eyes revealed a spirit that was anything but fragile.

She took his hand, and he felt his entire body react to her touch.  She opened her mouth to speak, and he leaned toward her in anticipation.

"Thank you…um—"  
"Ch-Chandler.  Chandler Tyler," he stuttered.

"I'm Monica Geller.  It's nice to meet you Chandler."

"I'm sorry about…I guess I wasn't paying attention."

"It's okay, neither was I.  And I really should have been, at this time of night," Monica smiled.

"Yeah, you never know who you might run into," Chandler smiled.  He felt a stream of nervous energy course through him, as she giggled, a light, lilting laugh that broadened his own smile.

"So Chandler, what are you doing out here at this time of night?"

He loved the way she said his name.  "Um, I work at a bar not far from here…what about you?"

"I work at a restaurant," Monica smiled.

"Ah.  So, listen, Monica…I know it's late, but…would you like to get a cup of coffee with me?"

Monica raised a wary eyebrow, but nodded slowly, "Sure…decaf, though, right?"

"Right," Chandler laughed, and extended his elbow toward her.  She wrapped her arm around it slowly, and smiled up at him, as they made their way up the street.

AN: Okay, so here's the deal with this fic—it may seem only mildly AU right now, but as you read on, you'll find the characters doing and saying things you may believe to be completely out of character.  I'm going to try to keep them as in-character as I can, but certain situations and lifestyles will call for them to do things that will be disagreeable to some of you.  (As the fic goes on, this note will become less cryptic, I promise you.)

In the mean time, tell me what you think, and I'll try to get the next chapter up ASAP.  I'm looking to keep this one about 4 or 5 chapters.  Yeah, we'll see how that goes.


	2. When Stars Collide

_AN:  Warning—this is a filler chapter—more soon._

_The Trouble With Love_

_Two: When Stars Collide_

The morning sun burned into the small of his back, so he sighed, and flipped over.  Slowly, he opened his eyes, and stared up at the water-stained ceiling that hovered above him.

He smiled, as almost immediately, thoughts of Monica filled his mind.

She'd agreed to coffee, and they'd stayed up half the night talking.  He'd never connected with someone so intimately, so quickly, and while his initial reaction was panic and uncertainty, he soon began to realize that this time, everything was different.  This time, there was no doubt in his heart.

She was _The One_.

He'd kept these thoughts to himself, of course, as he listened to her talk about her brother, and about her parent's nasty divorce when she was just a child.  The stress of the divorce had had a profound affect on her, and she gained nearly thirty pounds in under a year.  She'd spent most of her adolescence being picked on and made fun of, but he could see that the experience had made her stronger—she was determined, confident, and willful—and he adored that about her.  He'd asked about her father, and her face darkened, when she revealed that her mother had cut off all ties with him, and that she hadn't seen him in years.  She'd asked about his, and she told her what he knew—his father had been killed in a car accident when he was a boy.  He had very few memories of his father, and his mother never spoke of him.  They'd talked into the night, until the early morning light lined the horizon, and the sounds of a city slowly waking shattered their perfect night.

Chandler sat up, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, before shuffling out of his bedroom and into the living room.  He looked at the clock on the VCR—it read 11:30.  Normally, he'd be annoyed by the fact that he slept away his one day off, but he felt that it was worth it this time.

He wondered if she was still asleep?

He looked down at the telephone, and struggled with his urge to hear her voice—to see her again.  Before he knew what he was doing, he lifted the phone from the cradle, and stared down at the grey keypad, his eyes dialing her number over and over again.  Sighing, he shook his head, and re-placed the receiver into the cradle.

Was he trying to scare her off?  Calling her a few hours after their date would certainly do that—it would certainly scare her much more effectively than one of Joey's plays would.

No, it was too soon.

He picked up the receiver and dialed.

*

She sighed, and rolled over, her head heavy from lack of sleep.  She groaned slightly, then sat up, and swung her feet off of the side of the bed.  

A small smile played on her crimson lips, as she scooted off the bed and pulled on her robe.  She took a deep breath, and closed her eyes, as thoughts of Chandler floated through her mind.

He was funny, and charming; humble in a self-deprecating kind of way.  When he smiled, she melted, and she wondered if he'd felt the same connection he had—it seemed so immediate, and it scared her slightly.

She certainly hadn't been expecting it.

A knock on her door pulled her from her thoughts.

"What?"

The door opened, and her brother walked in.

"Ross, I just woke up."

"It's almost noon, Mon," Ross scolded, as he plopped down into her olive reading chair.

"You are so impatient," Monica shook her head, and pulled her robe around her.

"How'd it go last night?" Ross asked.

"Fine," Monica shrugged, and turned away from Ross, her brow furrowed.

"Mom's gonna want more of an answer, sis," Ross arched an eyebrow.

"It was fine, okay?" Monica spun around, and glared at her brother.

"Hey don't get all snippy with me.  This wasn't _my_ idea!"

"Ross—" Monica's phone rang, interrupting the siblings.  Monica sighed and glared at her brother, indicating she wanted privacy.  He sighed dramatically and stood to leave, as she picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Monica?  It's um…its Chandler…from the uh coffee place?"

"Yes, I know," Monica laughed, "believe it or not, I only know one Chandler."

Chandler laughed uncomfortably, and Monica smiled.  She turned to see Ross standing her doorway, a broad grin on his face.  She scowled at him and shooed him out hastily.

"I hope I'm not overstepping any, err, boundaries by calling, I just—"

"Not at all," Monica smiled, as she closed her bedroom door in Ross' face, "I was hoping it was you when the phone rang."

"So…would you like to meet for lunch?"

"I'd love to, Chandler," Monica grinned, her heart racing.

"Do you want to meet at our coffee place in an hour?"

_Our coffee place_.  Monica giggled silently, and covered her mouth to mute the sound.  She felt as giddy as a schoolgirl, and only when Chandler spoke again did she realize she'd never answered his question.

"Monica?"

"Oh!  Yes, I'll meet you in…forty five minutes at _our coffee place_."

Chandler laughed, "Okay, see you then," he managed, then waited for Monica to hang up the phone.

"Okay.  Bye," Monica said softly.

"Bye." Chandler, sure she had hung up, put down the phone, just as Nora walked into the apartment.

"Well good morning, sleepyhead," Nora smiled, and set her grocery bags down on the coffee table, "you had a late night last night."

"Yeah," Chandler replied dreamily, as he flopped onto the sofa, "I met someone."

Nora's eyes widened, and she quickly sat down next to her son.

"Really?  Tell me all about it!"

"She's…perfect," Chandler sighed, and smiled at his mother, "she's just…it's like I've known her all my life…ya know?.  He sobered slightly, and cocked his head to the side, "Are you feeling better?"

"Me?  I'm fine…but honey, I think there is something we need to talk about."

Chandler swallowed hard, and sat up straight, "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah…there's just…there are some things I need to explain to you."

"Oh…okay.  What's going on?"

"It's…it's about your father."

Chandler's brow furrowed, as Nora took a deep breath, then looked down at her hands.

"What about him?"

"I told you that he was dead…that he died when you were young.  That wasn't…entirely true."

"What do you mean, not _entirely true_?  Is he alive?"

"No…not anymore.  He…he left us, Chandler.  He walked out when you were a child, and I didn't want you to think he abandoned you—I thought I was protecting you," Nora spoke quickly, her eyes never leaving her lap,  "And then…he got more famous, and I didn't want the press to bother you, so…so that's why you have my name, and not his."

"I can't believe you lied to me," Chandler whispered incredulously.

"Honey, you have to understand, I did this to _protect you_.  When Charles left, I was sure I'd never see or hear from him again!"

"Mom—why are you telling me this now?  Who _is_ he?"

"Charles Bing, the movie producer.  Charles is your father, Chandler."

Chandler stared at his mother, dumbfounded.  What was she talking about?  How could some famous Hollywood guy be his father?

"Is…is this some kind of joke?  Because it's not funny, Mom," Chandler's voice cracked, and he stood up stiffly.

"No…it's not a joke.  Charles is…was your father.  He remarried about seven or eight years after he left us…to some _money-hungry_ divorcee.  And I was _sure_ that he had forgotten all about us, but…"

"But…what?" Chandler was shaking, his body reacting to the shock of his mother's bombshell.

"He left almost everything to _you_."

~*~

"Ross, _get away_ from my door!"

"Mom wants to talk to you—are you going out with Chandler again?"

"Yes…I'm meeting him for lunch."

"Don't go scaring him off, okay?"

"Look Ross, just let me do this, _okay_?"

"But if you screw this up—"

"Ross…this guy—he's a _really_ nice guy, and I don't want to hurt him!"

"Who says you have to?  He called back…so he must like you a little."

"This is so stupid!  Why do I have to get married?  And why him?"

"You don't get your share of the money if you don't get married.  Don't look at _me_, Mom's the one who married the wacko who came up with all these provisions!  At least this way you get _everything_.  Don't you want that _chateau_ in France?"

"Yeah," Monica relented, and sunk onto her bed, "but I don't want to—"

"Monica, look—technically, this Chandler guy doesn't even deserve his inheritance!  He didn't have to deal with Charles and his weird ways all of _his_ life, ya know?"

"Charles wasn't _that bad_, Ross.  And Chandler doesn't seem to know anything about him—he told me that his mom told _him_ that his father was killed."

"Are you sure he wasn't lying?" Ross asked, skeptically.

"Yes!  Ross, I don't even think he knows about the will!"

"Nora didn't tell him?"

"Well, he doesn't technically get the money until next year—maybe she's trying to protect him or something."

"Right," Ross scoffed, and stood up, "You'd better go talk to mom."

"Right," Monica sighed, as Ross left the room.  She turned and looked out of her bedroom window, overlooking Central Park.  Her mind was reeling.  How was she going to explain all of this to Chandler?  Would he even understand?  Did he somehow already know?

She shook her head, her throat clenching as she came to one undeniable conclusion.

This was going to end badly.


End file.
